


Not In Love

by griners



Category: Football RPF, Xabiano
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griners/pseuds/griners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fuck on Sunday mornings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not In Love

**Author's Note:**

> A try at a recent pairing, Xabi and Cris, because they're just too unf not to.

It’s rough and it hurts and it’s _perfect _\- there’s no time to breathe and the air leaves the room, pants muffled into pillows or into the other’s neck and it’s so hot and so good and so right there, oh-__

__“Oh,” the moan is cut short and Cristiano thrusts in harder, faster, grunting, his chest leaning against Xabi’s back and Xabi’s throat is tightening and he can’t get enough air into his lungs and he doesn’t understand how that somehow makes it better. “Fuck, Cris-“_ _

__“Uh,” he makes a strangled sound coming from deep inside and that’s followed by a grunt and another thrust, another, another, one more, he keeps going until Xabi’s not even moving anymore and he’s talking nonsense into deaf ears and he keeps going until the air tastes and smells and feels like sex and he knows there’s no greater feeling than this-_ _

__This, “Joder,” and Xabi’s coming into the sheets beneath him, and Cristiano can feel the waves of pleasure cursing through the man’s body as clear as he can feel his, and then Xabi’s all tight and amazing and fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck-_ _

__“Oh God,” and he’s coming right after him and he feels like he’s exploding and it hurts in a sickeningly pleasure-filled way and Cristiano collapses on top of Xabi; and they lie there for the next few minutes, trying in vain to breathe normally again._ _

__Steadiness isn’t quite enough anymore._ _

__~~_ _

__Sunday mornings are quiet. The sun is met with brightness and glow and it filters in slowly in the mostly-dark room, and later Xabi will deny his leg was slung over Cris’ and his arm was wrapped around his torso because this isn’t what this is about; never was, never will be._ _

__They fuck on Sunday mornings because they either had a game on Saturday or are going to have one that exact day, which makes the previous night that night their wives (or girlfriends) usually don’t talk about. Or ask, even. It’s forbidden territory, unspoken agreement, a love that only ever rises in the throes of passion._ _

__They fuck on Sunday mornings because in the quiet, they can pretend- and they love to pretend no one will judge, that what they’re doing is right, that it has a purpose. They love to pretend this won’t end in a clash of hurt and pain and things getting out of hand and shock and no forgiveness – sometimes it’s all too much to pretend- but the quiet is soothing, knowing, tells them tales of a never ending light that exists within a lie and sometimes, all they want to do is believe._ _

__They fuck on Sunday morning because they love each other, but they’re not in love with each other- because they’re like old friends who fuck around a few times a week and they need a reason to do it- something other than ‘stress’ or ‘relief’ and something other than being in love because they love each other, and they know it too, but being in love is a whole different story and they both know such a story will never have a beginning._ _

__They fuck, and they do it on Sunday mornings, because it’s bathed in shadows, because it’s calm, and because it’s perfect._ _


End file.
